Next in Line
by Tessenchan
Summary: [OneShot] When his father died, Miroku became the next in line, the last one of his family who would be able to kill Naraku... Rated T for language.


Hiya all! I have another one of my famous one-shots to keep your fix of Inu at its level high while you're waiting for the new chapter of To Be With You Tomorrow (or your new subbed eppies or import manga or whatever it is that gets you pumped, lol) This one is about Miroku, everyone's favorite lovable huggable lecherous furyou houshi! Yay! (I felt bad for him, my Miroku plushie was sitting in the corner of my room pouting because Inuyasha and Sesshie get all the huggles. lmao~) Anyway review when youre finished PL~E~A~SE ^-^   
  
And as always haff fun!  
  
Disclaimer:: I don't own any of the Inu charries, not even poor Mitsukazu, I just gave the guy a name and a face ^-^  
  
____________________________  
  
Next in Line  
  
The little boy tossed the ball to his younger brother, and the other boy caught it easily, bopping it back over to the first boy. A third boy, smaller than the other two, whined noisily at not having been let into the game and ran back and forth between the older boys, his tiny plump arms outstretched as he chased after the ball that was being thrown much quicker than he could run.  
  
Finally the smallest boy managed to jump into the middle and knock the round, brightly colored object off trajectory, and it flew to the side, bounce, bounce, bouncing and rolling to a stop.  
  
The three boys' eyes fell on the fourth boy in front of whom the ball had come to a stop, and noticed that the brisk wind of October had begun to pick up slightly, as it always did around this particular boy. The child, about 8 or 9, bent down and picked the ball up, his face widening in a wavering smile. He was a bit small for his age, and he had charcoal hair pulled back into a small ponytail, the longer bangs hanging down in front of his gray-blue eyes.   
  
"Here," he said calmly, "you dropped this."  
  
The smallest boy took it hesitantly. "Than.. Thanks, Miroku-kun."  
  
The boy, Miroku, smiled a smile far too adult for his age, and nodded silently, walking away. The boys watched him as the sudden wind that had died down as quickly as it had appeared.  
  
"That's Mitsukazu-sama's son, isn't it?" asked the middle son, and the eldest nodded.  
  
The smallest boy blinked. "Why didn't he stay and play with us? He looked lonely."  
  
"Good riddance," snapped the eldest boy, "We don't need trash like him playing with us." The smallest boy bounced betwen his brothers. "What? Why? Is something wrong with Miroku-kun?"  
  
The middle son nodded. "Miroku's family is cursed. An evil youkai created a demon wind that killed off Miyatsu-sama years ago, Oyaji said, and he also told me that Mitsukazu is next. And sooner or later, Miroku too."  
  
The eldest boy spat in the general direction of Miroku. "It's better if the stupid son of a cursed monk stays away from us!"  
  
Beyond the trees, Miroku bit his lip, having heard the words of the other boys. He had learned to cope with the fearful, apprehensive stares when he and Mushin-sama walked through the village. He had managed to get by with incident when people asked him or his father to leave for fear of being sucked up. He looked down at his right hand, where the small hole in question stood out in his palm. A slight wind pulled from it, a wind that had grown in strength since the day of his birth. He had had it all his life. He would have it when he died. It would be the cause of his death, actually.  
  
How depressing was that?  
  
"Miroku?"  
  
The young boy looked up at the call of his name, and smiled wanly at the sight of his surrogate father. "Mushin-sama."  
  
The middle-aged monk shuffled up to the boy and smiled, but Miroku noticed it seemed forced. He laughed, and this seemed even more unnatural. "Well well, boy, what are you doing out here on your own?"  
  
Miroku shrugged. "Nothing. Did you need me?"  
  
Mushin smiled, and for a moment it seemed genuine. "I have news for you, boy. Your father... he's returned."  
  
Miroku's eyes flashed instantly and he shoved past the old monk, running towards the temple which was his home and had been since he was born. On the steps was a man who looked very much like him with the exception that his coarse black hair was loose about his shoulders. The young man was about 25 or 26, and he wore black and green robes predominant to a man of the cloth, a lower monk, a houshi. He looked solemn, his eyes focused on the trees away from where Miroku was coming, but when he noticed his son, he smiled. Miroku threw himself into the man's arms. "CHICHI-UE!"  
  
The houshi held his son, his chest filling with a pride and a joy only a father could experience, the joy that came from holding your child. He hugged him a bit tighter. His only child... Miroku would be alone, as Mitsukazu had been alone...  
  
Miroku hugged his father's neck tightly, sniffling. He had been terrified that his father had been killed on his latest trek, perhaps killed by the youkai named Naraku, or worse, killed by the very kazaana that youkai had inflicted on their family. But he was home, he had come back safe, and... Miroku felt the press of something small, hard and round, like pearls perhaps, at his back.   
  
He pulled away, his father's hand coming in front of him. The dark green glove his father wore to cover the hole in his hand and the dark red prayer beads he used to seal the evil hole was still there. Miroku bit his lip and looked up at his father, asking the questions he already knew the answer to.  
  
"Chichi-ue, did you do it? Did you beat him? Is he gone?"  
  
Mitsukazu averted his eyes, and then shook his head. "I'm sorry Miroku. I.. could not. I came close to finding the accursed bastard once. He slipped through my fingers."  
  
Miroku looked down, his narrow shoulders slumping, and Mitsukazu forced a smile, slapping his son's back. "But cheer up son! I've returned, and Mushin-sama has prepared a party in my honor. There will be wo~me~n." he singsonged, catching Mushin's eye. The old monk snickered.  
  
Miroku perked slightly, noticing the obvious grin on his father's face, and he laughed slightly. "Okay. There won't be any sadness tonight, and we will have fun! Besides, you can go again soon and maybe this time I can come with you!!"  
  
Mitsukazu paused and then nodded. "Perhaps." He patted Miroku's head. "Now, go change. You're all dirty from playing in the field."  
  
"Hai!" The child ran off to his chambers in the temple and Mushin watched. Then he turned to Mitsukazu.  
  
"You don't intend to tell him?"  
  
"No," the houshi replied, "If I tell him, Miroku will... I don't want him to see, nor do I want him near. If he were to be pulled in.." Mitsukazu narrowed his eyes painfully. "Who would be the one to take over my work, now that I've.. failed??"  
  
The houshi bit his lip to hold back a whimper as his knees gave out, one hand fisting into his hair. Mushin painfully watched the deterioration of his childhood friend's son, who was like a son to him as well. He rested his hand on Mitsukazu's shoulder and squeezed it encouragingly, despite the fact the younger monk had obviously lost all hope. Truthfully, Mushin knew the young man's time was up. There was nothing he could do about that except abide by his wishes.  
  
When Miyatsu had been cursed at the age of seventeen, Mushin used to follow him in hopes he could help his friend defeat the monster who'd done it. For years Miyatsu ignored the ever-growing hole in his hand and searched after Naraku diligently. However when the strain of it became apparent, the monk seduced a young village girl and she bore him a son, Mitsukazu. At the age of 42, Miyatsu regretfully asked that Mushin stay behind and watch over his son while he contined his quest for Naraku. While away on his quest, when Mitsukazu was eleven, Miyatsu was sucked up into his own kazaana.  
  
Like his father before him, Mitsukazu had been a nasty lecher, and at the age of seventeen had acquired a woman and a son, whom he named Miroku. But while Miyatsu had been cursed with the ever-widening hole already 17 years into his life, Mitsukazu had been born with it. His lifepsan had already been shortened, and it would leave Miroku an orphan at the tender age of nine.  
  
Mushin hated his position in this. He remembered very clearly how Mitsukazu dealt with the loss of his father. Miroku was just like him, and still a boy yet. He would not take it painlessly.  
  
Mushin looked down at the young man's hand. The black unholy light that glowed from underneath the glove was brightening, strengthening, and Mushin could feel the pull of the wind as it began to encircle Mitsukazu. There was not much time.  
  
"Mushin-sama," Mitsukazu whimpered, his pain heavy in his voice, "Please... take care of Miroku. Teach him to have hope. Teach him to be strong... and..."  
  
"I know, my son." Mushin strained, slightly afraid. It was close. Mitsukazu would die.  
  
Knowing what would happen, Mitsukazu wiped his face, straightened his shoulders, and then looked up. "Keep him away, I don't have time to get far enough away."  
  
"Yes." Mushin nodded, turning into the temple and heading into the room where the young concubines were already dancing. One of the ladies had poured him sake, and Miroku was in the arms of one young lady. He turned, his small face bright red. "Aa, Mushin-sama!"  
  
"Miroku, getting a head start are we?" the oshou laughed, prying the lady off and casually asking the ladies to dance. He sat at his table and began to drink, noticing out of the corner of his eye Miroku's nervous glances at the door.  
  
Mushin grabbed the bottle of sake and poured a saucer for the boy, wincing inwardly. Mitsukazu probably hadn't even been in the other world a moment and Mushin was already corrupting his only son. "Drink up Miroku."  
  
"Mushin-sama..." The old monk laughed a bit, trying to cut off his young apprentice. "See? Doesn't it wash away all your worries?"  
  
Miroku looked up at the older man defiantly. "Mushin-sama!" he said loudly, trying to get the man's attention focused on one subject. "Why isn't my father here yet! He said this was a party for him, why isn't he here?"  
  
Mushin set the saucer down, sighing. "He did not want you to see him part with this world. Even now, he's probably already..."  
  
Miroku stared in confusion. "Part with....???" He gasped instantly, jumping to his feet and pushing the shoji open, and Mushin struggled to follow him. "Wait, Miroku!"  
  
"CHICHI-UE!"  
  
There was a flash of black light from outside the temple and Miroku stopped short, his eyes widening in horror. The silhouette of his father was dampened against the ever-brightening light, the ferocious gales coming from his hand sucking up everything from nearby trees to the ground itself. Miroku started forward again but felt Mushin's thick arms wrap around his light form, holding him back. "MUSHIN-SAMA LET ME GO!"  
  
"Miroku if you go he'll suck you up too!" Miroku pushed against the bigger monk, kicking his legs, digging his nails into his arms. *I dont care, I have to stop it! Chichi-ue is..!!*  
  
"CHICHI-UE!" he screamed against the sound of the wind, as the hole underneath his father's body began to deepen, and Mitsukazu, who had not dared to cry out, finally did as he was pulled into it completely. Mushin clapped his hand over Miroku's eyes and turned himself to protect them from the blinding flash that follow, and then all sounds stopped.  
  
The light died down. Slowly, the winds stopped.   
  
Miroku opened his eyes, the gray-blue orbs blurred with tears, as he looked at the torn ground, rips and cracks deeping into a large crater. There was no grass; it had all been pulled up by his father's out of control kazaana. Miroku cried out, his throat raw from his earlier cries, and he pushed out of Mushin's now limp hold and sliding down into the crater. "Chichi-ue! Chichi-ue!!!"  
  
Mushin went to the edge of the deep hole. "He's gone, Miroku."  
  
"No, no!! Why didn't he... WHY DID HE....!?!" Miroku punched into the ground, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. "It's all that bastard's fault! Damn Naraku!"  
  
Mushin came down into the crater and rested his hand on the boy's head. "Miroku."  
  
He sniffled. Mushin looked down at him. "You're now the only one left of your family. It is now your duty to find and kill Naraku. It may be a large burden for you, my son, being that you are so young... but, you will grow with time. Your spiritual powers will strengthen. I will train you, Miroku, if that is what you want."  
  
"Yes! I want to. I'll kill him." Miroku's fingers clawed into the ground, "I swear to the gods that I'll kill him, with my own hands. With this Kazaana that he cursed me with!"  
  
Mushin smiled bittersweetly. Miroku sounded so much like Mitsukazu when Miyatsu had died. Simply younger. He patted the boy's shoulder. "Come inside Miroku, you need to rest."  
  
"No... I want... to stay here for awhile. Is that alright... Mushin-sama?" the boy asked, and Mushin nodded. "Of course Miroku."  
  
The monk turned and climbed out of the hole, leaving his ward slumped at the bottom. He sighed. Mitsukazu had failed to kill Naraku. He had not been able find him, and now it was Miroku's job. Miroku would not fail though. He would persevere. He would grow up and defeat Naraku and lift the curse.  
  
As he turned to look back at him, his face set determinedly. *I know. Somehow, I can just tell. Miroku will be the last of this family to have this curse.*  
  
But for today, the curse would live on.  
  
~*~  
  
Ten years passed.  
  
Miroku, now nineteen, knelt at his father's grave, hands clasped in prayer. In the ten years that had passed, he had become a powerful houshi, not to mention the best there was in lechery. Mushin stood by his side and patted his arm as the young man, now a foot taller than him, stood. Miroku looked determined. "I'm going, then."  
  
"Do your best. Kill the son of a bitch."  
  
Miroku nodded and took up his shakujou, climbing from the hole. Mushin followed and at the edge, Miroku turned. "I'll see you later, Mushin-sama."  
  
"Oh, that's right. Before you go, you want me to read your palm?"  
  
Miroku looked intrigued, and reached out with his right hand. Mushin studied it precariously for a moment before gasping in horror. "Mi.. Miroku..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You only have a week to live!"  
  
Miroku paled, gasping slightly, and the older monk laughed. "Ha ha, I'm just kidding, don't get your robes in a knot." Miroku caught his breath, eyes narrowing in frustration, and he bopped his stepfather on the head with the hard metal rod he carried with him. "You drunken old fart, I'm gonna suck you up~"  
  
"I was just KIDDING, I said, don't you listen you stupid houshi?!"  
  
Miroku sighed. "Old man, don't drink yourself to death while I'm gone."  
  
Mushin grumbled to himself before replying, "Don't get killed, little boy."  
  
With that Miroku turned and headed east, and he turned back only once. The old man and the young monk caught eyes for a moment, and then he turned again and continued his journey.  
  
The journey to collect the Shikon shards.  
  
The journey that would lead him into the tangled web Naraku had spun 50 years earlier.   
  
The journey that would lead him to Inuyasha, Kagome, Shippou, and...  
  
"HOUSHI-SAMA WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?"  
  
SMACK! "Ita!"  
  
...Sango. His beautiful taijiya Sango.  
  
"Idiot."  
  
"Miroku-sama, don't you ever learn?"  
  
"Ah, but it was worth the pain."  
  
~*~ The End ~*~  
  
a/n :: What did you think? It was so sad during the first part I had to have some happy scene to end it with ^-^ And I'm pleased with how it turned out! (I for some reason absolutely adored Mitsukazu~ yummy~) Also, if you guys wanna have an idea of what I was thinking of as I wrote the scenes for Miroku's dad, think of Suikotsu (the nice, sweet, child-loving doctor version of him) with his hair down. ^-^ Yum!  
  
Anyway, please review!! Okie, ja!!  
  
~*~ V^-^V ~*~   
  
~Tessen 


End file.
